So I come home tonight totally not down with confronting the mouse in my house. And yet somehow I gathered the strength to face the demon. I gathered my laundry into an overflowing basket, unbarricaded the back door, and then realized that although the basement lights had been on when I was home for lunch, they were not on now. I glanced to my right to see that the light switch was still in the on position. What the hell?
I closed the door, returning the laundry basket to my bedroom, and resigned myself to the fact that I would not be confronting the mouse tonight. As I began preparing soup, I realized I needed a can of diced tomatoes from my pantry. Nothing can hold up the cooking. I dug out my flashlight, slammed the door several times to scare away the mouse, and stomped down the stairs with my laundry.
Once safely into the basement with no immediate mouse attack, I turned on all the lights I could find. I found a light bulb to replace the one I assumed was burned out. As I twisty turned the bulb into the socket, I couldn't help but notice how the light did not come on. I scaled the stairs to check that the light switch was in the on position. It was. What the hell? A fuse out?
Ugh. I hate replacing fuses more than I hate mice. It is so scary to me. At least with the mouse I can ignore it in my basement. I can't ignore a blown fuse. And as fate would have it, I can never find the damn one that is blown either. Of course none of them are marked. And they all look the same. After trying several times to screw in the wrong fuse and seeing sparks, my nerves were shot. I stormed off to ignore the problem momentarily.
I finished dinner and finally headed out to pick up the right fuses. I tackled the fuse project right off when I got back home and surprisingly enough, the fuse I thought was out, was not out. And I can't find the bad one. Shoot me in the face. I can't take any more tonight. I think this is going to be another call to the landlord tomorrow. Have I ever mentioned how I need constant care?